


No Happy Endings

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2018 [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Ed is bad at emotions, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nygmobblepot Week 2018, Oswald is even worse, Somehow, some brief crass/offensive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: The tabloids want to know when Oswald will feel comfortable enough to come out (or at least when is he gonna put a ring on it because everybody knows Ed is a catch, just like they all know Ed belongs to Oswald).This is, of course, news to the both of them. But Edward thinks he knows how to exploit it - and finally get a shot at winning the man of his dreams over and getting the happy ending he always wanted





	No Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S NYGMOBBLEPOT WEEK Y'ALL
> 
> I still have 3 fics left to write rip  
> This is mostly unedited, but see above for a hint about how much time I have (am I risking losing a letter grade for this event? maybe so)
> 
> I love this trope and everything about it. Enjoy :)

It was late afternoon when he finally found it. The solution to all his problems, the answer to all his prayers.

 

Well… perhaps not _all_. But certainly _most._ Or at least the most important ones.

 

Right there in the tabloids, of all places, was the perfect approach. If love riddles and risking his own _life_ wasn’t enough to seduce Oswald, there was little left he could do to gain Oswald’s affections the traditional way. But when had Edward Nygma ever been traditional? If he couldn’t seduce Oswald into being his, he would simply present a logical argument to keep them together and slowly work his way into Oswald’s heart while Oswald wasn’t paying attention. As long as he could keep Oswald to himself, he’d have time to work out the rest.

 

And the article he’d just read gave the best excuse he’d thought up yet.

 

_THE PUBLIC TRUSTS PENGUIN, BUT DOES PENGUIN TRUST THE PUBLIC?_ Proclaimed the headline, a picture of the two of them, Oswald’s hand on his arm as Edward whispered into his ear, in stark black and white beneath it.

 

_Many have speculated about the intense and intimate nature of our dear mayor’s relationship with his chief of staff. But we have reached an interesting breakthrough when a campaign staff member, who wishes to remain anonymous, came to us about what she witnessed between them on the night of the election._

_“He [Penguin] was furious when Mr. Nygma was brought in. Whatever he had done, Mayor Cobblepot believed he had cost him the election. As you know, he is a former criminal, and he must have forgotten himself in the heat of the moment and ordered Mr. Nygma shot. But before the worst could happen, the results came in and he realized he had won. When he turned back to Nygma, he said something that didn’t make much sense to the rest of us, but Nygma seemed to understand, making a heart in the air with his hands as Cobblepot said, ‘Love,’ as if he’d just had a great realization. That was when those intimate looks and close touches that everyone has been speculating really began. The night Mr. Nygma confessed.”_

_Now this is hardly concrete evidence, the way an announcement might be, but most are taking our anonymous source’s tale as confirmation that the two really are lovebirds – excuse the pun. Now all that remains is the question of when they will trust the public with the truth. Surely they know that, if we can accept ex-criminals, we can accept their love?_

_Another source goes even further._

_“I saw Mayor Cobblepot entering a jewelry store in Diamond district rather discreetly a few days ago,” she says, “So I think the question should be less ‘when will he deign to tell us?’ and more ‘when will he put a ring on it?’”_

_The truth of our Mayor’s love life may yet remain hidden, but we sincerely hope he feels at liberty to share it with us._

_“It would mean so much to me,” one man admitted to us, “I was on the fence about Cobblepot, I’ll admit, but so far he’s done so much for this city, and for him to be Gotham’s first openly gay mayor would be cause for true celebration.”_

It was so simple, so beautifully simple.

 

Oswald wanted the love of the people, and they would love him even more if they thought he was in love with Edward. The fact that Edward really _was_ in love with Oswald would only help to sell the lie, not that Oswald needed to know about that.

 

All he had to do was convince Oswald that a public proposal would boost his publicity and popularity, and he could be his for the rest of his life. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself, honestly.

 

~          ~          ~

 

The two of them made a habit of eating dinner together, if not particularly formally, most nights of the week. Often, they were both partially engrossed in their work, but it was still nice to have that sense of routine and camaraderie in their lives.

 

This time, however, Edward had his eyes firmly glued to his fidgeting fingers as he searched for the way to broach the subject of faking a marriage. They had been there for nearly fifteen minutes already, and while Edward was usually the first to finish eating, Oswald’s plate was clean whilst his own remained nearly untouched. Oswald glanced up from the ledger he was reviewing, only for his eyes to catch on Edward’s now-cold plate.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, looking his friend over and taking in his shaking limbs and glassy-eyed stare, “Ed? Are you okay?”

 

Edward blinked, snapping out of his reverie to find Oswald looking at him with great concern. When was the last time someone had cared about his well-being? Had anyone, besides Oswald?

 

“Ed?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, finding his voice, “I – I’m fine. I just… I found something out today. Something… unexpected. And I think we can manipulate it to our gain, but… it’s a weird subject, is all.”

 

“A weird subject?” Oswald frowned, “Weird for… Gotham?”

 

“No,” Edward shook his head, “Just for me. It’s not something I’d ever thought about before.”

 

“Would you care to share?”

 

“The people of Gotham,” Edward began, pausing as he considered his next words carefully, “Think that we are paramours.”

 

Oswald spit out the mouthful of wine he had just sipped, fortunately facing away from Edward and the rest of the table at the last second.

 

“They – they think that we’re – they think what?”

 

“That we’re lovers,” Edward mumbled, equal parts lost at the very idea that others could see his love when Oswald so obviously could not and hurt that Oswald thought the idea so ridiculous, “Having some sort of secret affair or something.”

 

“Good heavens, Ed, where do you find things like this?”

 

“I try to keep my ears to as many doors as I can, you know that,” he said, avoiding the specifics. He didn’t know how Oswald felt about him reading gossip magazines, even if it was to deepen his understanding of Oswald’s constituents. Or if, perhaps, he would disregard the idea immediately for its less-than-credible source.

 

“But you said we could… exploit this?” Oswald was continuing their conversation, frowning, “How?”

 

“I,” Edward coughed, trying to cover the blush that was rising up his cheeks against his will, “They all seemed very favorable to the idea. Some of them are even waiting for an engagement announcement – “

 

“A _what?!”_

 

“An engagement announcement. And many of them are saying that it would boost their – and others’ – support for you, to be an openly gay mayor, I mean.”

 

“Wait,” Oswald held up a hand, brow furrowed as he thought over Edward’s words, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

 

“I – and only if you agree that this is worth our time, of course – I was thinking that, maybe, we should do it,” he shrugged it off uncomfortably, going for casual and missing by a few hairs at least.

 

“Get married?” Oswald asked drily.

 

“Well… yes,” Edward nodded, “I understand it’s rather a lot to ask, for you to bind yourself to me for the sake of public support. I know I’m not exactly the most appealing partner, but… I was under the impression that relationships weren’t important to you, so I thought, maybe you’d agree. I understand not wanting to, though.”

 

“ _You’re_ not the most appealing?” Oswald scoffed, “You think I am?”

 

“I think it’s not entirely implausible that suitors will start appearing once they catch the scent of your money and power. Nor do I find it that implausible that some of them would be attracted by the confidence and comfort you exhibit in public. It _is_ admirable.”

 

“As opposed to how your shocking good looks, brilliance, and cunning are so utterly repulsive?”

 

“Oswald,” Edward said softly, torn between a longing ache at the idea that Oswald might think he was handsome and the sharp one at the memory of everyone who had been repulsed by him before, “When people look at me, they just see a know-it-all, or a murderer, or a – a – a _freak_. Why would _anyone_ be attracted to the creep who stalked and killed his last girlfriend?”

 

“Ed!” Oswald was on his feet now, “You are so much more than that. You are more than your past, you are more than your flaws, you are – you are indispensable.”

 

He moved to stand beside Edward’s chair, taking one of his hands in both his own, and said, “If others are too dense to see that, then hang them all. I, for one, would be honored to marry you, even if it were with the sole intention to exploit the publicity of it all.”

 

“You mean it?” Edward breathed, feeling his pulse pounding at Oswald’s touch, unable to tear his eyes away from the other man’s.

 

“Of course,” Oswald insisted, “You’re right. I have never valued romance. For me, there are no true cons to your plan. It may be a little odd, it’s true, but it’s brilliant. As long as you really are willing to tie yourself to me, as well. I won’t do this if you’re only doing it to help me. Could you truly be happy with this arrangement?”

 

“You’re my best friend, Oswald,” he replied, “Spending the rest of my life at your side would be as much a pleasure to me as it would be an honor.”

 

“Well then, I think we have a plan.”

 

“Do you want me to announce it tomorrow?”

 

Oswald paused, presumably thinking, before he shook his head, “No. let’s not have an official announcement at all.”

 

“What? Then how – “

 

“Edward, would you have dinner with me tomorrow? I’ll get a reservation at a classy place,” he smirked, an amused and knowing glint in his eyes as he exaggerated his tone, “I have a certain _question_ to discuss with you.”

 

Edward felt his stomach doing flips, reminiscent of the one time he experienced a rollercoaster, the prospect of Oswald publicly proposing weighing with all its joys and sorrows on his mind.

 

“Of course,” he answered.

 

~          ~          ~

 

They were just about finished with a very lovely meal, talking and laughing with an ease that was just shy of natural, when Oswald cleared his throat.

 

It was time.

 

“Ed,” he bit his lip, glancing down, “My dearest friend. My – my love. Every day I spend with you is akin to a day in paradise. You have helped me so much, in so many ways, and I hope that I mean to you even a fraction of what you mean to me. If – if you do, then I suppose I shouldn’t be nervous about this, since a fraction of the love I feel for you would be endless. A fraction of infinity is infinity, after all. So, with that in mind…”

 

He stood up, drawing the attention of the room – most of whom had been not-so-discreetly watching them since they’d sat down – and cleared his throat. When he dropped to one knee, shifting the weight off his bad leg with the help of his cane, a series of gasps echoed throughout the deathly silent restaurant. He cracked open a ring box that Edward had never seen before, but which seemed to have been plucked straight out of the nineteenth century, along with the ring inside.

 

“Edward Nygma, my darling love, will you marry me?”

 

Edward let out a gasp of his own – perhaps a shade more dramatic than was called for, but really, who cared? – and clapped his hands over his mouth. After a second, he peeled them away to stutter out, “O – Oz! Oh, Oswald, oh of _course_ I’ll marry you.”

 

He allowed tears to fall as Oswald slid the ring over his finger, pretending they were part of the show. Oswald would probably buy it, he thought, and –

 

And then he didn’t think at all, because Oswald had pulled himself to his feet and was kissing Edward in full view of the entire restaurant. His lips weren’t overly soft, not like Kristen’s had been. They were rougher, as was he, and Edward found himself loving every aspect of it.

 

It was only when Oswald had pulled away, subtly wiping a thumb across his own eyes, that Edward registered the applause that had broken out around them.

 

“Congratulations, sirs,” a voice said to the side, and they turned to see the head chef and owner of the restaurant himself, “Could we perhaps interest you in a congratulatory dessert? On the house, of course.”

 

“We’d love to,” Oswald said before they even had time to glance at each other.

 

The owner shifted on his feet once before getting the courage to ask whatever else he was wondering, “I – Proposals are good publicity. If you would consent to a photo for the wall out front, we could – we could put your bill on the house as well?”

 

Edward had a feeling this was standard procedure for the restaurant, but that the bargaining method of asking was a little more intimidating when facing a crime lord who ‘probably’ killed anyone who tried to weasel too much out of a deal.

 

To put the man at ease – and because Edward himself wasn’t entirely sure Oswald _wouldn’t_ kill the man for bargaining with him – he interjected nearly as smoothly as Oswald had and said, “Of course. That sounds lovely.”

 

“Thank you,” the man said genuinely, hurrying back to the kitchen as someone else stepped up to take the photo. Edward caught him wiping away sweat with his sleeve before he disappeared through the doors and smirked.

 

Then Oswald was wrapping an arm around his waist and holding up the hand with the ring on it for the camera, kissing him on the cheek. Edward just barely remembered to give his sappiest, most lovestruck smile before the camera flashed to commemorate the moment forever.

 

“Is there any chance we could get a copy of that?” Oswald asked the photographer.

 

“Certainly,” the woman smiled, “Should I have it sent to city hall, or is there a private address you would prefer?”

 

“City hall is fine,” he assured, “If you could put an umbrella by my name in the address, I’d be much obliged.”

 

“An umbrella?”

 

“Priority correspondence,” he said shortly, unwilling to divulge more. She seemed to sense this and backed off, giving them one more perfunctory congratulations before disappearing to do whatever else she did.

 

A decadent, oversized slice of tuxedo cake was delivered to their table within minutes, with a single plate but two forks.

 

Edward felt light as air as they settled in to share it, finding it difficult to remember that Oswald was only doing this for the publicity when his eyes were so bright and his smile was so wide.

 

But the thought was still there, and there was a part of his brain that couldn’t help but overanalyze every little twitch of Oswald’s for signs of discomfort. And another part that was searching for signs that Oswald really meant it all.

 

He was disregarding both when Oswald got a mischievous look and, before Edward had time to question it, had raised a forkful of cake up to Edward’s lips.

 

“Come on,” he whispered, “Isn’t it a tradtion?”

 

“For weddings, yes.”

 

“Well, close enough. Besides, anything we can do to help sell it, right?”

 

“I suppose?”

 

“Then open up and let me feed you.”

 

Edward felt himself blush again, cursing his tendency to get flustered whenever he was presented with something unexpected, and obediently opened his mouth. It was a strange experience, closing his lips around a utensil that he wasn’t holding, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Carefully using the skills he had built up over a lifetime of sensory unpleasantness, Edward worked the cake off the fork without allowing the metal to come in contact with his teeth. He pulled back, letting the silverware slip from his mouth as he swallowed and moaned in appreciation. When he looked back up, Oswald was gaping at him.

  
“What?”

 

“When I said anything to sell it, I wasn’t thinking quite so obscene…”

 

His blush deepened, and he coughed, looking away, “Sorry, I just – got carried away.”

 

It sounded like a weak excuse to his own ears, but Oswald just smiled, “It’s alright, Ed. I don’t mind,” his smile deepened into a teasing grin, “I just don’t want my fiancé arrested for public indecency.”

 

“ _Oswald,_ please…” Edward begged. _Please have mercy on me. I’m just a lonely, lovesick boy. Please._

“My apologies,” Oswald said sincerely, “Perhaps we’re both just giddy.”

 

“Exactly,” Edward said, silently thanking him for taking pity on him and giving him an out.

 

The rest of their meal passed in blissful silence, and when they finally left the venue, to Edward’s never-ending delight, they left hand in hand.

 

~          ~          ~

 

_BELOVED MAYOR BELOVED BY MORE THAN CONSTITUENTS_

_GOTHAM: WEDDING BELLS ARE RINGING. GET READY TO CELEBRATE_

_MAYOR COBBLEPOT FINALLY COMES OUT – AND IT’S MORE HEARTWARMING THAN ANYONE COULD HAVE PREDICTED_

_HUGE STEP FOR GOTHAM GAY COMMUNITY_

_INSIGHT INTO COBBLEPOT’S MYSTERY MAN: THE LOVE STORY THAT SHOOK A CITY_

_THE MAYOR AND HIS RIGHT-HAND MAN: POWER COUPLE OF THE YEAR… OR THE CENTURY?_

The papers and tabloids were dropped, one after another, into a pile on Oswald’s desk.

 

“It worked?” the mayor leaned forward, eyes flicking over the story on top. He rather liked their description of him as, “the man who single-handedly wiped out a well-established generation of gangsters,” and Edward as, “the backbone of the GCPD – unseen by the rest of us, but when his then-untreated mental illness caused him to leave, their efficiency decreased by nearly 30%,”.

 

“More than worked,” Edward gushed, “They’re eating it up! I mean, there are a few fringe blogs that aren’t on board, but…”

 

“Aren’t on board how?”

 

“It’s mostly about me, anyways,” Edward scuffed his shoe against the ground, excitement dampened by Oswald’s concern, “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Oswald was already on his feet, “Clearly it does. To you.”

 

“Oswald,” he looked up, eyes wide, “Just because we agreed to do this doesn’t mean you have to – to – _defend my honor_ , or anything.”

 

“What sort of husband-to-be would I look like if I let an offense against you slide?”

 

“Alright,” Edward relented, pulling up the articles he had bookmarked on his phone. He totally hadn’t been intending to comb them later out of morbid curiosity and a compulsion to bend over backwards for any scrap of respect.

 

“ _What the Gotham Gayzette won’t tell you about the newest brand of corruption at city hall?_ ” Oswald read off, “ _We said Nygma wasn’t qualified for the position the Mayor gave him – but that was before we realized the qualifications included sucking –_ Edward! These are _vile_. How _dare_ they say – how dare they even _imply_ that you are anything short of – of _brilliant_. Are they all like this?”

 

“Well, there was _one_ exception. One blog was kind of neutral about us, saying that you were letting your emotional ties influence your work, which could go either way. But they also said you had me released from Arkham, ‘in order to help relieve you of the stress of the campaign,’ which could be taken multiple ways,” he said quietly.

 

“Do you think it’s worth it? To keep going, if your reputation is on the line?” Oswald asked him seriously.

 

“Oswald, don’t be ridiculous. My reputation was as a crazy person who killed his girlfriend, remember? A few nutty blogs that could be run by Tabitha Galavan for all we know is nothing compared to this,” he gestured at the large stack of papers supporting their upcoming union.

 

“If you’re sure…” Oswald watched him closely, laying a hand on his bicep, “As long as you’re comfortable with this, we’ll keep going. Sound fair?”

 

Edward nodded, pleased that Oswald had only been offended on his behalf, rather than mad at him.

 

“So… there’s an orchestra tonight,” Edward switched topics hesitantly, “and we _are_ supposed to be engaged…?”

 

“Are you asking me on a date?” Oswald smirked.

 

“I think so?”

 

“I’d love to,” Oswald said, before stepping back to his desk, “If that’s all for now, can you call my driver and tell her to be ready in the next,” he glanced at his watch, “oh – ten minutes?”

 

“Ten minutes?” Edward asked, ignoring the aching want in his chest that reappeared as Oswald seemed to switch of ‘fiancé’ mode and return to their prior boss/best friend dynamic, “But you don’t have anything on the agenda this afternoon.”

 

“Something has come up, rather short-notice,” Oswald dismissed his confusion, grabbing his coat from the hook by his door, “Nothing to worry about, very informal. I’ll see you tonight?”

 

“Hmm? Oh! Right, yes. Tonight.”

 

“It’s a date,” Oswald winked, before leaving the office. Edward stood there, dumbstruck for a minute at what could only be described as Oswald _flirting_ with him, even if it had only been done in jest, before he recalled his task.

 

Pulling out his phone, he speed-dialed Oswald’s favorite driver, but his mind wasn’t on the task.

 

He was going on a date with Oswald Cobblepot tonight!

 

But… what should he wear?

 

~          ~          ~

 

Edward saw no more of Oswald until that evening, having just finished adjusting his most vibrant green suit when he heard someone ringing the doorbell.

 

Odd. Not a lot of people came to visit all the way out at the mansion.

 

When he opened the door, he was met with none other than his fiancé, a subdued grin on his face, and a crisp, new tuxedo on the man himself.

 

“Oz?”

 

“I’m here to pick you up for our date,” Oswald said, as if Edward didn’t live in Oswald’s own goddamn house, “Oh, and I brought you these.”

 

From behind his back, he produced a beautiful bouquet of green, white, and purple flowers. Edward’s gasp wasn’t remotely staged, overcome, as he was, by the artistry of the arrangement, as well as the fact that anyone – that Oswald in particular – would bring him flowers.

 

“Oh, they’re gorgeous!” he accepted the bouquet, reveling in the symphony of scents until the comparison reminded him that they were on a schedule, “Here, let me put them in a vase, and we can be on our way!”

 

“Of course,” Oswald smiled indulgently, waiting patiently for him to return. The limousine ride to the symphony orchestra passed in companionable silence, something that was still a relatively new experience for Edward, and one of the numerous reasons he had fallen so hard and so fast for the man at his side.

 

When they arrived, Edward helped Oswald out of the vehicle and waited for him to lead the way. Oswald offered his arm, which he accepted with delight, before guiding him into the bright lights and bustling crowd of the theatre where the performance would take place.

 

“I forgot to mention earlier,” he said in an undertone, but not so low that they couldn’t be overheard, “You look gorgeous, Ed.”

 

Edward blushed, which was becoming something of a habit for him whenever he spent time around Oswald. It took him a moment to formulate a response, but finally he stuttered out, “And – and you, Oswald. You’re handsome. Very, er, very dashing.”

 

Oswald smiled kindly at him, crinkles around his eyes as he replied, “Thank you, darling.”

 

He was on Oswald’s arm all the way to his private booth, stopping every once in a while along the way as various of the city’s elite recognized their mayor and paused to give congratulations. But eventually the reached their seats, and Oswald casually laid an arm across Edward’s shoulders in a move Edward recognized from the romcoms and summer flicks he had been exposed to over his lifetime. However, he knew better than to assume Oswald was attempting some form of seduction. If Oswald wanted him that way, he’d already have him. If Oswald wanted him at all, _Edward_ wouldn’t be trying to seduce him with unnecessary dates. He wished he could cook for Oswald in a romantic sense, but all dates in private had to be ruled out, since there was no exploitable reasoning behind them.

 

Instead, he leaned into Oswald’s arm and laid his own hand over the arm of his chair so that his inordinately long fingers would hang down and just barely brush Oswald’s thigh any time he shifted, all while seeming innocent. He rested his head against Oswald’s shoulder for good measure, and also because he wanted to.

 

“So I never did ask – what are they playing tonight?”

 

“Enigma variations,” Edward mumbled, growing almost sleepy as absolute comfort washed over him. If only he could have this all the time…

 

Oswald snorted, jarring his head slightly from it’s place.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Oswald apologized almost immediately, bringing his free hand up to brush the hair away from Edward’s brow, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

 

“You didn’t,” Edward assured him, leaning into the gentle caress, imagining that Oswald’s ministrations stemmed from a desire to touch him rather than a worry over his well-being. Not that he _objected_ to Oswald caring for him…

 

“Then I won’t feel bad poking fun at you for this,” Oswald’s tone became light and teasing, “Mr. E. Nygma.”

 

“Am I a mystery or an enigma?” Edward asked, in what he knew was a poor attempt at flirting. He didn’t think Oswald would appreciate the punchline, either.

 

Oswald didn’t reply, merely raising an eyebrow to prompt Edward to continue, sensing there was more by his tone of voice.

 

“Well,” Edward answered his own question with a smirk, “It varies.”

 

“Oh my god,” Oswald groaned, hanging his head in defeat, “You’re impossible.”

 

“I feel like the word you’re looking for is ‘incorrigible’,” Edward suggested. Oswald just glared at him.

 

The concert proceeded beautifully, and by the end, Edward was practically in Oswald’s arms. He didn’t object to this position in the slightest.

 

As they stood in the lobby, waiting for the crowds to die down so they could reach the door, Edward managed to steal a kiss.

 

But not before Oswald did.

 

“That was wonderful, darling,” he said while the waited. Edward smiled at him, “Anything is wonderful with a gentleman like you by my side.”

 

“A gentleman you say?” Oswald replied lightly, “Then permit me to do this, beautiful.”

 

And before Edward could even process that response, Oswald had caught his hand and brought it up to his lips, brushing a kiss over the back of it.

 

Edward nearly swooned.

 

_It’s all for show. It’s all for show. It’s all for –_

 

“You’re the _perfect_ gentleman,” Edward informed him, before taking a risk and adding, “But I am feeling daring.”

 

Oswald was partway through raising an eyebrow when Edward took his face in both hands, leaned down, and captured his lips in his own, only pulling back when he was absolutely breathless.

 

He doubted one kiss would be enough to seduce Oswald, but he hoped it might be memorable enough to open him up to the _idea_.

 

When Oswald had caught his breath enough to speak, he glanced meaningfully at the people who were not-so-secretively watching them and said, “How risqué of you Ed.”

 

“Well,” Edward searched his mind for a good enough excuse, “If _I’m_ the risqué one, and you’re publicly seen reigning in my behaviors, it will only strengthen your image as a respectable figure.”

 

“Everything has a purpose for you, doesn’t it?” Oswald sighed. Edward shrugged, “Everything _does_ have a purpose. You just have to find it.”

 

He was exhausted by the time they returned home, and they both retired immediately. His dreams were filled with images of Oswald, dressed to the nines, top hat adorning his head, having Edward on his arm at every social function. They would laugh, and kiss, and hold each other. Under the cover of a table, or the darkness of a theatre, sometimes one of them would take a risk, move their hand a little too high, kiss a little too improperly. It was comfortable, warm, safe, and everything Edward had ever wanted. It was perfect.

 

All in all, not a bad night.

 

~          ~          ~

 

The dates didn’t stop there. Every few nights, it seemed, one of them would propose a new idea for ‘publicity’. Oswald took Edward to a museum, Edward invited him to an art gallery, they tried out a new restaurant, they went to the fairgrounds, the aquarium, the park.

 

On this particular day, Oswald had gone home early, citing a migraine that he simply couldn’t shake. Edward assured him that all would be fine, insisted that he take care of himself, and reminded him that he would see him that evening. It had been a few days since their last date, which had been nothing more than a stroll through the park, arm in arm, as the evening sun illuminated the changing leaves. Edward had just settled on proposing a picnic, combing his brain for public locations that were secluded enough that he could pretend they were private, when he arrived at the mansion.

 

The light in the hallway was off, and he didn’t bother to turn it on as he hung up his coat and toed his shoes off, wondering if perhaps Oswald had already gone to bed. But as he passed the drawing room – as Oswald _insisted_ on calling it – he heard the telltale cackling of flames in the fireplace. He poked his head around the doorframe to find Oswald sitting near the fire, head in his hands, a nearly empty bottle of wine that Edward knew for a fact had been unopened when they’d left that morning at his feet.

 

“I don’t think wine is the answer for a migraine,” he spoke quietly, not wanting to startle his friend, nor make his head hurt any worse.

 

Oswald still jumped, regardless of the softness of his tone, and craned his head around to peer at him.

 

“Edward? You’re home already?”

 

Edward blinked, both at Oswald’s use of his full name and at the ridiculous remark. He glanced down at his watch before replying, “Oswald, it’s 7:03.”

 

“Already?”

 

“Yep,” he nodded, walking into the room and pausing awkwardly beside the other man. Should he sit? He probably should. Perching on the edge of the couch beside Oswald, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine,” came the answer, too short to be true.

 

“Is your head feeling better?”

 

“My head is feeling _fine_ , Ed.”

 

“Are you – are you hungry?”

 

Oswald shook his head, “Not really.”

 

“Well, why don’t I go grab a bite, and then you can _actually_ tell me what’s going on,” Edward sighed, “I’m worried about you.”

 

“Don’t be.”

 

Edward sighed again. It was apparent that Oswald had no intention of sharing whatever it was that had caused him to retreat so. When was the last time he had been this defensive around Edward? What was the problem?

 

Unless…

 

Oh dear.

 

Unless he had finally caught on to Edward’s game – all the attempted seductions: the hand holding, the light touches, the spontaneous kisses any time a photographer was nearby to provide a convenient excuse. He had caught on, and he was upset. Uncomfortable? Pissed off? Edward wasn’t sure which, but either way, the odds didn’t look good for him.

 

Forlornly, he managed to eat about three crackers, five grapes, and a slice of cheese from Oswald’s ‘high class snack pantry’ before he couldn’t stomach any more. His nerves were on edge, his muscles tense, and his stomach was positively rolling. What was going to happen to him? Would he be kicked out? Beaten? Killed? Should he bother to fight back, or should he let Oswald do as he pleased? He understood Oswald’s will to give up after losing his mother so much more in this moment than he ever had before. What was life without Oswald? Who was Edward Nygma without the Penguin?

 

Heart heavy with dread, he trudged back to the drawing room where Oswald still sat, seemingly unmoved in the quarter hour he had been gone.

 

They sat in silence for as long as Edward could stand before he finally cleared his throat and began, “Alright, Oswald. Clearly something is upsetting you, so – “

 

“You need to go.”

 

Edward blinked at the interruption, “Go? Go where?’

 

“Leave. You need to leave,” Oswald said shortly, head still in his hands and gaze locked firmly on the dancing flames.

 

Edward’s jaw opened and closed a few times before he settled for _ignorantly optimistic_ and asked, “For how long?”

 

Oswald rolled his eyes, huffing out, “ _Forever_ , Ed. I need you to leave.”

 

“But – but we’re engaged. And I’m you’re chief of staff. We’re a _team_.”

 

“What happened to ‘better off unencumbered’, hmm?” Oswald asked, unrelenting, “I work better alone. I know that now. So go.”

 

Edward gaped at him, his open mouth a flesh-and-bone parody of the gaping holes Oswald’s words tore into his heart and soul. To cast him out so coldly, and without so much as an explanation…

 

He seized upon the lifeline, no matter how fragile, and demanded, “A reason.”

 

“Excuse me?” Oswald blinked, looking at him for the first time, incredulous.

 

“I demand you give me a reason for kicking me out.”

 

Oswald began to gape in a mirror of Edward’s actions only moments before, but then a cold fire washed over his eyes and his jaw snapped shut, “No.”

 

“ _No?_ You won’t even _tell_ me why you’re throwing me away? You owe me that much, at least.”

 

“I owe you nothing,” Oswald spat out, “Be grateful I’m letting you leave with your life.”

 

Oh gosh.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh dear.

 

That was the Penguin voice. The voice he used to warn off the idiots who were seconds away from getting their throats slit. Edward never imagined it being turned on him. Not after everything.

 

His muscles tensed and slackened as it finally hit him.

 

This was it.

 

Oswald was finally done with him. Finally ready to treat him like everyone else had.

 

Oswald didn’t love him. Never would. _No one_ would.

 

It was over.

 

He felt the prickling behind his eyes and pleaded with his anatomy to stop, to let him have his dignity at the very least, but his body had no intention of listening. His lip quivered, so he bit it, trying with all his might to hold the tremors in, to not let Oswald see him shaking. But it was very soon to no avail.

 

His resolve slipped, and he slumped forward, body quite literally wracked with sobs as he buried his face in his hands, trying at least to stifle the frankly embarrassing whimpers issuing from his throat. Why was he so weak? No wonder Oswald didn’t want him. No wonder he’d come to the conclusion that he worked better alone. How had Edward ever convinced himself that he _deserved_ any of this? How could he possibly deserve a place at Oswald’s _feet_ , much less at his side. To have desired, to have genuinely believed he could achieve a place _on his arm_ was laughable. Had Oswald been laughing at him this whole time, only to tire of him now? What about Gotham? Were they laughing too?

 

Those fringe bloggers certainly seemed to think the only way he could have gotten any of what he had was by selling his body to Oswald in exchange for a job, a house, and a friend. Maybe he should have tried that. At least he would have served _one_ purpose to Oswald that would have made him less replaceable. Not irreplaceable, certainly, but less likely to be thrown out out of the blue, as he was now.

 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand cautiously touch his shoulder. Instinctively he curled up, shielding himself from the other man with his limbs as he pressed himself further into the couch.

 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp out, “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

 

Oswald’s hand hovered over his shoulder, and finally he spoke again. His tone was completely devoid of emotion, but at least it held none of the cold fury and dismissiveness from earlier.

 

“I think you mistake me, Edward. Perhaps I was too harsh. You have done much for me, but,” he paused to swallow, “Our partnership has run its course. It’s time for us to part ways. I’ve transferred fifty thousand in clean money to your account. Use it to set yourself up somewhere new. A fresh start. And do _not_ try to contact me again. Do you understand?”

 

“No,” Edward croaked, voice hoarse from the incessant sobbing.

 

“It’s quite simple. We’re over. I need you to leave. Do so and make a better life for yourself somewhere else. Farewell,” Oswald said solemnly, the last word sounding so final that Edward swore he could feel his heart shatter along the fracture lines that had been forming since the conversation began. And along the fracture lines that had already been there, since long before he and Oswald had ever met.

 

He heard Oswald’s footsteps retreating and gasped out, “Better? That’s impossible.”

 

He heard Oswald pause, somewhere near the doorway, and he laughed bitterly, “Don’t _you_ understand? There is no happy ending for me.”

 

“Yes, there can be,” Oswald said quietly, “But not with me. Now for the last time, I’m _ordering_ you to leave.”

 

Edward was still shaking with the force of his tears, the last of his façade, his bravado, his mask falling away as he raised his head to look Oswald deep in the eyes. He could almost imagine a flicker of pain in them before they shut like doors, like cold, _cold_ blocks of ice.

 

His own eyes were wide, pleading, and so very lost as he whimpered the truth he had harbored for so long, “ _But I love you…_ ”

 

He dropped his gaze to his lap; he couldn’t stand to see the hatred or disgust or whatever other emotion Oswald might be feeling form in the eyes that had once looked at him with such pride and happiness.

 

“What did you just say?” Oswald’s voice had returned to it’s earlier cold fury, but somehow it seemed less… impenetrable.

 

“I love you, Oswald,” he told his twitching hands, “But of course you already knew that. How could you not? I risked my life for you. I offered myself to you. I _promised_ myself to you. Not to mention all the dates, all the stolen kisses, hoping – foolishly, naively, _moronically_ – that I could somehow make you love me back. Why do you think I suggested the engagement in the first place? You were already plenty popular. It was just a convenient excuse to let me woo you. But of course it didn’t work. Why would it have worked?” his voice was still shaking, but it had grown stronger. He found the strength to stand up, head bowed in shame, “I’m sorry for doing this to you, Oswald. You really are my best – my _only_ – friend. And if I’m a burden on your life, then it is only right that I leave it. I’ll go. I’m sorry for everything.”

 

Grand speech done, he walked towards the doorway, skirting around Oswald in order to leave. The man still hadn’t moved.

 

His ears were ringing and his face was burning and everything was _wrong_ as he marched down the hallway, determined to at least make it out of the house with his composure mostly intact. All of his possessions belonged to Oswald, anyways. He had nothing to collect.

 

His hand wrapped around the doorknob, but before he could turn it, another hand laid on top of it, halting him.

 

He froze, knowing it was Oswald, that Oswald was behind him. Close behind him. He held his breath, waiting for Oswald to make another move, to let Edward in on what was happening. He’d been doing what Oswald asked, hadn’t he? He’d been leaving.

 

“Turn around,” the commanding voice of the Penguin ordered him. Edward didn’t even think for a moment before complying. Oswald was _so_ close, less than a foot away from him, and as Edward watched, he brought his other hand up to rest against the other side of the door, effectively bracketing him.

 

“That was one hell of a performance,” Oswald said, voice light but tone harder than stone, “I really don’t know if you have it in you to make all that up.”

 

“I – I – I didn’t make anything up,” Edward contested, indignant that Oswald would suggest such a thing.

 

“No? That wasn’t the world’s most brilliant manipulation?”

 

Oswald was clearly playing to win, but Edward didn’t even know the rules.

 

“It was not,” he said, turning down what would have been the highest praise he’d ever received.

 

Oswald blinked at his denial, face softening slightly in his surprise.

 

“You,” he breathed out, “You really do love me?”

 

“Yes, Oswald, I do,” he nodded, “Again, I’m sorry.”

 

They stood there, Oswald’s arms on either side of Edward, staring at each other through a tension so thick it _should_ have been opaque. Edward felt as if he were standing on a thin blade between perdition and paradise, waiting for Oswald to shove him off into one side or the other.

 

“Don’t be,” Oswald said finally.

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he amended, but before Edward could even begin to comprehend what that meant, Oswald was pressing him into the door, ravishing his mouth in a way that made his toes curl. Edward was definitely suffering from emotional whiplash, but at this point, he was mostly just focused on the feeling of Oswald’s hands exploring his body, caressing his hip one moment than shoving it backwards to pin him down more effectively the next. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, Edward didn’t want it to stop.

 

He had no sooner thought that, however, than it did.

 

“Oz,” he breathed out, panting as he leaned against the solid door behind him, “What – what was that?”

 

He hated the vulnerable tone in his voice, but after he had lost control on the couch, it wasn’t as if he had any dignity left to lose. Not where Oswald was concerned.

 

“You love me,” Oswald said again. Edward just stared at him blankly.

 

“I love you,” Oswald finished belatedly.

 

A shock greater than any electric current shot through Edward’s system. He had to have hallucinated that.

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes, you beautiful, idiotic genius. How could I not love you?” Oswald rubbed a hand over his face.

 

“But – but you were kicking me out,” Edward blinked, completely lost.

 

“I,” Oswald sighed, “I thought I was using you.”

 

“What?” Edward said again.

 

“All of this,” he gestured at the ring that still adorned Edward’s finger, “The engagement, the dates, everything. I’ve been willing them to be real. Everything I’ve said to you is completely true. I even gave you the ring my father had bought for my mother, before fate ripped them apart. But I – I realized I was willing to force it farther, without ever telling you. I was getting bolder with my touches, with everything. My mother would have been so disappointed in me. It wasn’t very… gentlemanly,” he sighed, “But once I’d gotten a taste of you – pardon the double entendre – I knew there was no way to go back. Either I found a way to make you mine against your will, or I had to remove you entirely. And I wasn’t about to harm you, no matter what I wanted. So I needed you to leave.”

 

“You – you’ve been trying to seduce me while I’ve been busy seducing you?” Edward clarified, too shocked to so much as giggle.

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“And then you kicked me out to save me from your wanton desires?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But… I wouldn’t leave, because all I ever wanted was for you to desire me,” he finished his summary.

 

“I believe that is what happened, yes,” Oswald agreed.

 

“Then…” Edward frowned, “I think we may have inadvertently found our way to a happy ending after all, despite our most valiant efforts to avoid one.”

 

Oswald was still looking at him hesitantly, as if he might disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment. Edward bit his lip and gave him a tentative smile that he hoped came across as coquettish.

 

“Well?” he asked, a touch of the light teasing that had set the mood for most of the past month and a half returning to his voice, “What are we waiting for? Let’s celebrate this new… understanding.”

 

“Celebrate?” Oswald raised an eyebrow, catching on to the playful tone, “What were you thinking?”

 

“I’d be amenable if,” he coughed, “I mean, I would appreciate – no, that’s not right. Let me start again.”

 

He took a deep breath, and – staring into the pale green eyes of the man he loved, the man who _loved him back_ – said, “I would very much like for you to give in to those ungentlemanly wanton desires you mentioned.”

 

In all his years of asking riddles, inquiring after facts, and investigating murders, he had never been more pleased with a response to one of his questions than he was at that precise moment.

**Author's Note:**

> PSYCH! There's a happy ending.   
> ...of course there is, it's me, what'd you expect
> 
> Shout out to my gf for suggesting the music that was both my background music while writing and also the subject of the concert they attend
> 
> Comments can't feed me, but they can feed my soul, or [insert truthful, sappy crap of choice]  
> But seriously, please comment. It makes my day every time!


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